


Leap in the Dark

by Avery_Kedavra



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Normal High School, Anxiety, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders Needs a Hug, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders Tries, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders is a Good Friend, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders is a Sweetheart, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders-centric, Anxious Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Background Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Background Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders and Morality | Patton Sanders, Background Morality | Patton Sanders, Band, Caring Logic | Logan Sanders, Concerts, Friendship, Gay Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Gay Logic | Logan Sanders, Gen, Insecure Logic | Logan Sanders, Logic | Logan Sanders Is A Good Friend, Logic | Logan Sanders Needs a Hug, Making Friends, Minor Gender Dysphoria, Platonic Analogical - Freeform, Platonic Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Logic | Logan Sanders, Platonic Relationships, Protective Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Public Speaking, Speeches, The Author May Be Projecting, Trans Logic | Logan Sanders, analogical - Freeform, friends - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:07:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22283857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avery_Kedavra/pseuds/Avery_Kedavra
Summary: Virgil isn't the mood to make friends. He's trying not to panic and/or cry over the band concert. Then a classmate asks him to introduce the band. That involves speaking. Onstage. In front of literally everyone.Yeah. Nobody's getting him in front of that microphone.But...Logan's sure going to try.And when Virgil finds out why, he can't say he's not tempted to think twice.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Logic | Logan Sanders
Comments: 9
Kudos: 141





	Leap in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> Heya, kiddos! I'm still working out the details for my next multi-chapter fic, so here's a little one-shot in the meantime. This can be read as platonic or romantic Analogical, but I prefer to think of it as platonic. Either way, it's super early in the relationship.
> 
> This story is also partly based on personal experience, because concerts are stupid and dysphoria is even stupider and I want to project onto my babies for some second-hand comfort and satisfaction. Like a normal well-adjusted human would.
> 
> I don't think I'll return to this exact AU, but if you'd like to explore this storyline or some of these ideas, be my guest!
> 
> Warnings: implied dysphoria, general anxiety and self-deprecation, and mention of making out.
> 
> (Title comes from In the Dark by Anna Blue and Damien Dawn.)

Virgil Acevedo regretted every single decision he had ever made. He’d tried to do his best at life, and since he was still alive after fourteen-plus years of existence, he had thought he’d done okay. Now he realized every choice that brought him here was a wrong one. He had created his own personal hell through a combination of hubris, naivete, and choosing Band back in sixth grade.

Now he sat in the front of the audience, surrounded by the entire flute section, which were extremely chatty girls. He felt a phone flash behind him and winced. Even though he knew it was another selfie, Virgil hated photos.

He hated a lot of things. Anything that put the spotlight on him. Virgil Acevedo liked to lurk in the background. Performing was not his idea of fun.

Yet here he was. Clenching a silvery flute, his knees knocking together and his fingers shaking, watching the terrible orchestra play their terrible pieces and dreading the moment those flooding stage lights would illuminate him.

Yeah, logically, he knew nobody would look at him. He wasn’t exactly the most popular kid in the school. And his mom had a late shift and couldn’t make it, thank god. But what if? What if someone just happened to glance in his direction? And they would see a skinny, sweaty boy with floppy black hair he’d tried to comb—still slightly purple from that dye the bottle _said_ would have washed out by now. Playing a flute in a section full of girls, two seats from last chair, barely fumbling through the pieces. Wearing a too-small shirt and a pair of old black sneakers.

Virgil shuddered at the thought.

The orchestra finally screeched their way to a halt. Now someone was introducing the chorus. Roman Prince from Spanish class. He had way too much enthusiasm for the time at hand. He even cracked a terrible pun, which Virgil knew wasn’t in the script, because Roman looked away from the small paper in his hand before telling it. Only one person in the choir laughed. Patton from Biology. Everyone else glared at Patton, who looked unperturbed.

Virgil shifted slightly as the choir broke into song. They sounded truly hideous. Not that his flute-playing was anything stellar, either. But at least he could hide behind the rest of the band. Nobody heard the flutes.

Only a few more songs and Virgil would be up there. Did he remember the fingering for the first piece? What about the second? Did he still have his music? What if it all fell out of his folder? What if he bumped into the girl next to him and she hated him forever and—

Virgil closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He was spiraling again. It would be fine. It would be fine! Just three songs, barely ten minutes long, and it would be over. He’d never have to do this again.

Virgil looked down and realized his hand was clenched into a fist, nails digging into his palm. He slowly uncurled it. Four red crescents marked where the nails had struck the skin. Virgil winced at the sting and rubbed at the marks, feeling his palms get sweatier as the chorus neared their close. Great—sweaty hands. Exactly what he needed to play the flute.

Someone tapped Virgil on the shoulder, and he almost screamed. Thankfully, he muffled his shout before it left his mouth. Turning around, he squinted towards the back of the auditorium to see who had tapped him.

It was a boy Virgil recognized from History class. He had dark hair and a sharp face, accentuated even more by his black-framed glasses and the honest-to-goodness _tie_ he was wearing around his neck. Clearly a nerd of the highest proportions. What was his name again? Logan—Logan.

And now Logan was looking at him expectantly, oh god had Virgil forgotten something was he supposed to say something Logan probably thought he was so weird—he needed to be nice and smart and say something that would make Logan forgive him.

“What?” Virgil hissed.

Well. So much for that.

Logan blinked at the harshness in Virgil’s tone, but he didn’t immediately turn away. “Sorry to bother you, but do you have any interest in introducing the band?”

It was Virgil’s turn to blink. “What?” he repeated.

“Well, I was chosen, but would you like to say this speech instead of me?” Logan held out a small white paper. “It is quite short. You just stand up before our song and greet the audience.”

Virgil looked from the paper to Logan’s face. Logan looked serious and sincere, which ruled out the possibility of a prank.

“You…want me to…talk to them?”

Logan pressed his lips together. “Of course, if the idea is uncomfortable to you, you are under no obligation to fulfill my request. It is simply a suggestion.”

The boy talked like a dictionary! Virgil’s mouth twitched in both humor and gratitude. Logan may have been overly formal, but he was also being pretty nice.

Which meant he wanted something. Of course he did. He wouldn’t just ask Virgil about this unprompted. Virgil didn’t exactly have a reputation for being approachable, with his perpetual scowl, large headphones, and baggy purple sweatshirt.

“Why me?” Virgil blurted out before he could stop himself.

“I beg your pardon?”

It was too late to back out now. “Why are you asking me?” Virgil said. “I mean, people don’t usually talk to me, and you seem smart so you should know not to talk to me, and I’m still confused why you want me to do the script especially since I’m…not good at that,” he finished lamely.

Logan tilted his head. “I asked you because you are nearby, and because I know you to some extent. We are in History together. You ask good questions in History.”

Virgil smirked. “You know all the answers, though.”

“Hardly.” The barest flash of a smile lit up Logan’s face. “I just have a tendency to share them more than other people might deem wise.”

Virgil snorted, twisting around in his chair so he could talk more. He certainly needed a distraction at the moment, and Logan’s blunt way of speech was refreshing. No double meanings or tricks, no hidden feelings or blatant falsehoods like with…like with other people. Other non-specific people who definitely weren’t Virgil’s ex, definitely not, no.

“So…I just go up there and read off the script?” Virgil asked. Just the thought made his stomach twist in knots. “Sounds boring.”

“Please?” Logan fidgeted with his glasses. “I can repay you later.”

“How so?” Virgil raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Better choose wisely, Logan.”

“Hmm.” Logan stared into the distance, tapping his chin. “There are several options here. I could give you money, food, or some other tangible object that might please you. I could give you an intangible, such as friendship, though I have no idea whether you lack in those areas. I could also promise you a favor. Perhaps tutoring, or giving you answers for tests? I am quite capable of such things. I have done them in the past for friends and people who have blackmailed me.”

Virgil widened his eyes. “Blackmailed? What?”

“Or,” Logan narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, “I could repay you in… _other_ ways.”

Virgil stared for a second before bursting out laughing. “Oh my god, are you implying—like, we’ll make out if I give that speech? Dude!”

Logan chuckled too, his face flushing. “I have heard it is a useful bargaining chip when dealing with teenage males.”

“Dealing with teenage males,” Virgil repeated, still chuckling. “You sound like Jane Goodall. Maybe I’m not gay, did you think of that?”

Logan shrugged. “Are you gay?”

Oh no oh no what do I tell him what do I say he started this conversation so he’ll probably be okay with it but what if—no, Virgil, just play it cool.

“So what if I am?”

No, that was not cool. That was borderline aggressive. Way to go, Virgil, you came off as super defensive.

“There would be no problem if so,” Logan clarified. “I am also homosexual.”

“Intellectual and homosexual?”

“Exactly.”

Virgil smiled and let out a breath. “Yeah. I mean—me too. I’m…gay. Maybe not the intellectual part.”

“You do well in History,” Logan said with a smile. “I’m sure your intellectual capacities are above average.”

“Is that your way of saying I have big brain?”

“Actually, the size of one’s brain does not correlate to intellectual faculties—”

“I know, I know.” Virgil waved a hand, still smiling. “Back to the topic at hand. Would you actually tutor me?”

Logan nodded. “Of course. I enjoy helping others. What subjects do you have trouble with, may I ask?”

Virgil stared at his hands. “Math.”

“A common answer. You’re not alone.” Logan paused. “So if I give you my tutoring skills, in return you will give this speech?”

Virgil bit his lip. “I dunno, Logan…tutoring would be nice and all, but I’m not exactly a big fan of public speaking.”

“Well, no worries, I can ask another student.” Logan looked around. “Does anyone wish to say my speech instead of me?”

Nobody looked in his direction.

“Disappointing.” Logan adjusted his tie. “I guess I’ll just have to say it myself, then.”

The dejection and anxiety in his voice caught Virgil off guard.

“Are you…” Virgil began. “I mean…do you…why don’t you want to say it?”

“I don’t want to,” Logan said briskly. “I’m not a fan of public speaking.”

“What part?” Virgil asked too loudly. He began to fidget with his sleeves, avoiding Logan’s gaze as he tried to explain. “Like, for me, I’m scared of everyone watching me and that I’ll mess up or start crying or something. If it’s something specific, maybe I can…help? I have some…experience with getting nervous about things.”

Logan’s expression was unreadable. Finally, he spoke.

“Thank you, Virgil.” His voice was soft and quiet, different than the confident tone of a few minutes ago. “I appreciate that.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Virgil asked.

Logan blew out a huff of air. “It’s not the public speaking that scares me,” he confessed. “I’m usually okay with attention, although I don’t seek it out like some of my more…exuberant friends. But today, I guess, well—” Logan ran his fingers through his hair and looked away. “Never mind. It’s illogical.”

Virgil reached forward tentatively and placed his hand on Logan’s shoulder. “I bet it’s not. However you’re feeling, whatever’s bothering you, I know it’s valid. You don’t…have to tell me, ‘cause I’m just a weirdo who sits near you, but—”

“I’m not wearing a binder!”

Logan’s face was screwed tightly and his eyes were shut, as if bracing for a storm.

“I’m not wearing a binder,” Logan repeated, more quietly. “So I can have more breath to play clarinet. I volunteered before I remembered. I don’t want to—I don’t want to go out there looking like—”

Oh. _Oh._

Logan’s eyes were still closed. He rubbed his face.

“Never mind. I’m sorry to bother you, I will just figuratively ‘man up’ and perform the speech myself—”

Logan looked dejected. He looked ashamed and desolate and waiting for Virgil to turn around and run away or call him names or just treat him differently. Like he was used to it.

He reminded Virgil of himself.

Before he could stop himself, Virgil reached forward and snatched the paper.

“You don’t have to. I’ll do it.”

“Really?” Logan’s eyes opened, and for a second, Virgil saw the pure relief on his face. Then his eyes darkened with worry. “Are you sure? I don’t want to put you in a tough position.”

“You’re not,” Virgil assured him. “I promise. Just—you’d better be a good tutor, Lo.”

“I’m the best.” Logan crossed his chest. “Nerd’s honor.”

“Then we’re all cool here.” Virgil glanced down at the script. “The song’s almost over, what do I do?”

“Just stand onstage, take the microphone off the stand.” Logan spoke slowly and clearly, as if he could see Virgil’s increasing heart rate. “Click the button on the bottom, hold it and say your part. Turn the microphone off, put it back, and go to your seat. If you need help, ask the conductor.”

“Okay. Okay. Okay.” Virgil nodded to himself. “I can do that. I can.”

“Are you sure? Are you good to do this?”

“I think so.” Virgil closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “It’s a short speech. I think I’ll be okay.”

Logan leaned forward intently. “Please, Virgil. If this is upsetting you, please tell me. I do not want to force you into this because I can’t face my own fears—"

“No!” Virgil interrupted. “It’s completely cool to not do things you’re uncomfortable with. You’re not a coward. You’re being reasonable. And, I mean, it’s not exactly what I’d have chosen, you know? But it’s for a friend. I know we just met!” he added hastily. “I hope it’s not weird, and I mean, I don’t really know you, but you’re the nicest anyone’s ever been in a while, so…it makes me happy to help you. That’s what…friends do. If we’re friends. Because…I’d like to be friends. With you.”

Logan’s mouth opened slightly. He looked speechless.

“I’d love to be your friend, Virgil,” Logan finally said. “Thank you.”

Virgil found himself smiling, and Logan smiled back. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a pen, taking Virgil’s music folder and scribbled down a sequence of numbers.

“My number,” Logan explained. “For the tutoring, and for…anything else.”

Virgil nodded. “I’ll text you when this is over. Promise.”

“Thanks.”

The choir hit a truly terrible pitch and finally silenced, enjoying the dull applause from the parents around them. The band around Virgil stood up, and he walked onstage with the rest. His hands were sweating again, and shaking, and he felt his fingers slip from his folder and flute. He tightened his grip and walked faster, placing his things on his chair before making his way to the front of the stage.

The auditorium was almost full. Virgil scanned the crowd briefly. Faces stared back at him. In the front few rows were the orchestra and choir students, sitting down to watch the band. Roman whispered something to Patton and both of them giggled.

Behind Virgil, he heard the rustling and clinking of the band getting ready. Soon the sounds faded away. The conductor caught Virgil’s eye and nodded, gesturing for him to start speaking.

It took a second for Virgil to turn on the microphone. He clasped it in one hand. How close should he put it to his mouth? He didn’t want a feedback squeal or to be too loud. But if no one heard him, that would be a problem, too. He was running out of time! Everyone was staring, behind and in front of him—he felt trapped on this stage with the too-hot lights and a small crinkly script he’d barely glanced at. He glanced at it now, feeling his heart pound. His mouth was dry. Maybe he’d try to speak and nothing would come out, or he’d just lean forward and puke. He’d never live this down.

There was a loud thud behind him. Virgil turned automatically and saw Logan had hit his stand with his clarinet. Virgil stared at him in confusion. Logan smiled back.

“You can do this,” he mouthed.

Virgil felt a bit of his nervousness ebb away. Logan had put the spotlight on himself just to encourage Virgil. He could see Virgil was panicking and he helped.

Virgil turned around, holding out the script, reading the words over and over. It was only five sentences. Five sentences.

Five chances to mess up.

Five sentences. For a friend.

_You can do this._

Virgil closed his eyes. Took a deep breath.

And spoke.


End file.
